


About a man or the day of the happy very much alive llama

by taurussieben



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Gangs, Llamas, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Minor Injuries, No Llamas were harmed in this production, The Llama is named George and it hates you and all mankind, implied depression, librarian!shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taurussieben/pseuds/taurussieben
Summary: A boy on a motorcycle, a librarian, and a llama met outside a bar...
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 69
Collections: Sheith Prompt Party 2020





	About a man or the day of the happy very much alive llama

**Author's Note:**

> okay...cool...the title. the title is based on the movie "about a boy" which has in my county the subtitle "or the day of the dead duck". Well, in this story there are no ducks, only George, the Llama, who is very much alive. 
> 
> When I saw the prompt I knew I wanted it. I did kind of missed out on one fact, for that I deeply apologize and I hope the prompter is still happy with the result. 
> 
> My artist Hiro did an awesome job!!!!! Please check it out [here](https://twitter.com/Hirorin_art/status/1305533312010772481). They got George's contentment so right. I'm in love with it.
> 
> What is left? Check out the other event entries!
> 
> And have fun with this one!

“Llamas?” Librarian Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane blinked once, twice and then pushed his glasses up his nose, while his patron looked expectantly up at him. Shiro wasn’t sure he ever had seen him around. He was short, with a wicked scar on his right cheek, and long dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He was clad in black leather, a helmet dangling from his fingers.

“Llamas,” Pretty Boy repeated. “Alien Llamas,” he specified as if this made the whole request easier.

“And what species exactly?” Shiro asked more on autopilot, then anything else. He was still too bewildered to even think about this whole conversation.

Pretty boy furrowed his brows and then took out a piece of paper from his form-fitting leather pants. His eyes drifted over whatever was written on it for a second. “A…Laurasiatheriartiodactylatylopoda. They’re native to Flexus V.” He folded the paper and left it on the desk. “So, do you have any books on the care and upbringing of Laura-thingys, or Alien Llamas, or even Llamas in general?”

Shiro licked his lips. “I will have to consult the catalog, and maybe make contact with another branch.” Probably one on Flexus V. Pretty boy nodded.

“I will be back tomorrow,” and with that, he turned and swept away before Shiro could correct him, that it would take him more than a day to get the information, if he even could at all. While his brain still tried to catch up with the whole conversation, his eyes admired the backside of Pretty Boy in those damn pants.

After he had himself sufficient under control again, he took out his datapad and called a number.

“Matt, my old helpful friend. I need a favor.”

* * *

“Llamas?” Matthew “Matt” Holt put his beer bottle down and squinted at him. For once a breeze drifted through the streets and made being outside bearable. They sat on the stairs leading up to Shiro’s patio, he had never bothered to get furniture for it. “How cute is he?”

Shiro had the grace to blush. He scratched his head in embarrassment. He took a swig from his own bottle to hide it, but it went down the wrong pipe. Coughing and sputtering, he cursed, while Matt smirked.

“Pretty please?” Shiro tried it with doe-eyes, but a man of his stature, big, broad and just a bit burly, didn’t pull off doe-eye very well, or it was just Shiro’s own inadequacy.

“Urgh, fine, but never look at me like that, captain.”

Shiro smiled. “You know, I’m no captain anymore.” He flexed his prosthetic arm, the right, holding the bottle.

“It’s still a shame that the Garrison booted you after the accident.” Matt murmured, taking another sip from his bottle. “I—”

“It wasn’t your fault, Matt.”

“It had been my calculations, it was—”

“Matthew,” Shiro said with emphasis. “We talked about it.” Matt grimaced with his don’t-remind-me-face. “I’m content now.”

“But—”

“No.” Shiro laid just enough of his once commanding voice into it, that Matt closed his mouth with a click and let his shoulders drop.

“Fine.” Matt saluted with the bottle. “I will message Katie, she knows how to contact Romelle. You remember her?”

In Shiro’s mind appeared the picture of a rather busty blonde, with an affectionate laugh. “Wasn’t she a relative of Allura, and has gone out to the outer regions?”

“Yeah, she studied xenobiology. Maybe she can help, or knows someone who knows someone, etc. You know how it is.”

Shiro nodded. “Thanks. How is Allura these days?”

Matt made another grimace, he had many of them stored away. Shiro knew Matt practiced them in the mirror to get them just right. “Still happily married to Lance.”

Shiro chuckled. “Haven’t heard of any of them in a while.” He looked out over the patio. The night had fallen. The fine sprinkled band of the Milky Way coiled over them, flanked by stars of different sizes and colors. In the distance, they saw the moving lights of the intergalactic airport. Its spires cut a straight line over the mountains on the horizon. For a moment, Shiro yearned. He locked it away. He felt Matt’s gaze on him, but thankfully he didn’t comment.

“Lance is on diplomatic duty and got posted as a liaison to the Blades.”

Shiro winced. The Blades, a paramilitary group of Galra rebels that helped in the war against the Galran empire, were a peculiar bunch. And Lance tended to put his foot in his mouth. “How did that go down?”

“Well, there is no war, yet? So well enough. If you want to know more, Katie has more insight into the matter.”

“Oh?” Shiro’s curiosity was piqued. Katie “For-christ-sake-call-me-Pidge” Holt was a different kind of genius than Matt was. Where Matt was analytical and all mathematics, Pidge all-natural and bio-tech. She understood the world on a whole different level. Her mind at work was a thing to marvel at. She also was more reclusive, so she could work without pesky things like interruptions.

“Yeah, she works with them now, I’m jealous.”

“Didn’t know she had a contact there.” Shiro mused.

“An old friend got her on board, and she must have impressed Leader Kolivan. The grapevine told me, he built her a whole new lab.”

“She good?”

Matt smiled. “Yeah, our last call even lasted five minutes.” The equivalent of being happy. Shiro looked up into the stars and understood why.

Out there everything was possible.

* * *

The next time he saw Pretty Boy wasn’t to his surprise the next day, but the same night. After Shiro said goodbye to Matt, he found his fridge solely lacking. With a heavy heart he dragged himself outside to the next late supermarket. While he kept fit and had the physique of a price boxer he felt uncomfortable as he would need to cross the side of a rather shady club. It was run by a syndicate. Shiro had heard nothing good about it. The Garrison and the police had tried to get a handle on them but so far they always managed to slither out.

Shiro hunched his shoulders and quickened his steps. The deep thumps of the bass spilling out of the building vibrated in his bones, laughter and calls drifted over from the waiting crowd. Shiro was about to turn the corner when he caught movement. A fight was brewing on the outer edge of the parking area. For a second Shiro considered stepping in. Three big men ganging up on a rather short one was never a good sign. But just as he was about to make the call, the shorter one knocked the middle guy out. The action brought him closer to one of the streetlamps. 

It was Pretty Boy, his face in a scowling mask. The friends of the middle man stepped closer, Pretty Boy raised his fists, when another man stepped next to him, laying a hand on Pretty Boy’s shoulder. A gesture of support? Restraint? Lips moved, and Pretty Boy snarled, loud enough for the sound to drift over. The sound went right down to regions Shiro hadn’t considered in a long time. He felt the heat of a blush creep over his cheeks and was very glad that no one paid him any attention.

Sirens sounded in the distance; the group dispersed immediately.

Pretty Boy and his friend walked into the shadows of the back alley of the club. A door opened, the light spilling it, and then closed after them.

So Pretty Boy was a gang member.

Shiro sighed; just his luck.

That night, standing at his desk while the night spilled around him, he opened the journal his therapist had given him and wrote one line: _I met a boy._

* * *

It was right before closing when Pretty Boy stumbled in. As promised it was the next day. He looked…bad. There were deep scratches over the scar and the other cheek, at the end of his jaw, right before the ear started, was something that looked like a bite, and a deep bruise was forming on the left side of the forehead.

Shiro choked. “Run into something?” He asked, remembering the near-fight of last night.

Pretty Boy scowled and winced, and scowled some more, his jaw tight. “Please tell me you’ve something for me.”

“I’m sorry, I reached out, but I’ve yet to hear back.”

Pretty Boy tightened the fingers around the helmet enough that Shiro could hear the leather creak. And then all the tension bled out of him. “Can you phone me, when you’ve something?”

Shiro licked his lips, his mind going far away on the prospect of getting Pretty Boy’s number, his mouth worked on autopilot. “Sure, no problem.” Blinding smile.

Pretty Boy squinted at him but shrugged his shoulders. He grabbed a random piece of paper on the desk and a pen and scribbled on it. With a nod, he turned around and walked out. Shiro’s eyes stayed glued on his ass.

He took a few calming breaths before he slowly reached for the note. A pad number was scribbled down, and next to it a name. _Keith_.

_Keith_ , Shiro repeated in his mind, _Keith_. It sounded beautiful.

* * *

That night Pidge called. Early morning would be more accurate, Shiro had watched the black of the night turn to the murky grey of the pre-dawn. She took one look at him and rolled her eyes.

“So, he is pretty.”

“Matt just assumes,” he explained himself.

Pidge threw him a look over the rim of her glasses. Her sandy brown hair was still kept short and together with the lab coat she looked very much like her brother ten years ago. Shiro smiled wistfully.

“And now you’ve got that fond creepy smile on your face. Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I always brought you cookies?”

“Maybe,” she huffed. “About the message. Romelle is a bit hard to reach. But I got the dial-in for the station she uses for her periodical check-ins. So if you leave a message with them, there is a good chance she will get it. But when…” she shrugged.

“Thanks, Pidge, I really appreciate it.”

She nodded and then her face shifted. Her smirk turned gremlin-like, with that particular twinkle, that told Shiro to be wary. “So, tell me about that crush.”

For the third time in twenty-four hours, Shiro blushed. “There isn’t much to tell. Yes, he is good looking. He is kind of badass with a not bad ass.”

Pidge groaned. She pinched the bridge of her nose, then muttered something under her breath that sounded like “Why am I even…”

Shiro smiled. “There isn’t much else.” He decided to leave the syndicate connection out.

Pidge studied him for a moment, then she hummed. “How long has it been since…”

Shiro shrugged and looked away.

“Shiro,” she said gently.

He exhaled.

Sometimes life didn’t go your way. Decisions had consequences, and he bore those with his body, and his heart. The accident had cost him his arm, his dignity, his dreams, and his relationship. The prosthetic had made intimacy with others impossible, they flinched away from the metal or the stump. “It’s just a nice feeling, don’t make it more.”

She was silent for a beat longer and then sighed. The long-suffering one. Like Matt had his grimaces, she had her sighs. “Okay, I will refrain from siccing Allura on you, but it’s close.”

“Duly noted, ma’am.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, but Shiro also saw the hint of a smile. “Do your worst, old man.”

A sudden crash made her turn and curse. “Gotta go.”

“See you, Pidge.” She nodded and then the screen was dark.

Shiro starred at the pad for a few seconds. He missed her, he missed them. He was lucky that Matt was still posted on Earth and close. All the others from his old team had left. Allura had returned to her home planet, Altea to support her father; Lance had followed her. Pidge being Pidge, had taken the first shuttle out as soon as she could and as far as Shiro knew, hadn’t set foot on Earth since then. Hunk, the burly man with the gentle soul, was on a quest in the outer rim to merge cooking with robotics, whatever that meant.

He pressed his hand over his heart in an attempt to stave off the sudden ache. No luck.

The journal laid open next to him. His eyes traced the entry from yesterday.

A sudden rage flared up, deep-seated anger, that burned hot and high, and consumed him. This had cost him his career and his relationship. He had never told the others. The sudden realizations burned the anger away and left him cold and empty.

His fingers shook with the aftermath when he typed out the message to Romelle.

Then he pulled the journal closer and wrote: _I met a boy, and I liked it._

* * *

Romelle took the better part of an Earth week to get back to him. Her face was flushed and her hair windswept. Her video message came with a massive data stream. The message itself was an hour-long lecture on the care of alien llamas. If she had been here, he would’ve kissed her.

His fingers hovered over Keith’s contact. For a moment Shiro was unsure. His first thought had been to just send it all over and be done with it. Which would also mean, he wouldn’t see the other again, if ever. It was a silly crush. Very silly indeed. But Keith had also been the first one in a long time whose eyes didn’t stop at the massive scar splashed over Shiro’s nose or the prosthetic arm that was even harder to miss in its black and grey glory. He had also not recognized him and searched in his eyes for the person he had once been. No, he had looked at Shiro, the librarian.

And he wanted more of that. Craved it, even, with a desperation that surprised him.

He flicked his eyes to the clock. Five a.m. Had he even slept? Shiro typed.

“Hi, this is the librarian, Shiro. I got hold of some info. When would it be convenient to drop it off?”

The answer pinged five seconds later.

“Today? I will be home in two hours.”

Shiro read the message a few times, every time stopping at the _home in two hours_. He backtracked a few answers before he settled on a simple _Okay_.

Then he looked at the journal page for today and wrote: _I met a boy, and I texted him._

Two hours later brought him to a small house on the outskirts of Garrison town. It wasn’t far from the airport, in a rather lofty area, full of small picturesque houses and small gardens. It was surrounded by a high wall and green lush bushes. Three motorcycles were parked in front of it. Shiro swallowed and pressed the bell. For a full minute, nothing happened. Shiro checked his pad, making sure he got the time and the address right, before contemplating on pressing it again when the door opened.

A ringing sound started in Shiro’s ears and he choked on a greeting. Keith wore only a towel around his hips. Water droplets pearled from his wet hair down his chest, past a nipple before it sunk into said bluish towel. Shiro snapped his eyes up, catching faint amusement in Keith’s eyes.

“Sorry, shower, I was later in than I thought I would be.” He stepped to the side, to let Shiro in.

“It’s alright,” Shiro said, his mind was working on keeping his gaze on Keith’s face. It was a hard battle.

“Just through the hallway at the end is the kitchen. I will get dressed.” Shiro followed the pointed finger that led him through the hallway into a spacious and open kitchen with a view of the backyard. At one of the big windows stood a llama and it was watching him.

It had the appearance of a normal earth llama, Shiro remembered the pictures he had seen once. But there was a glint in those beady eyes, that spoke of contentment and devastation if the llama was ever set loose on the unsuspecting population of Earth. It moved its jaw left and right, the gaze never wavering.

Amidst his staring contest, Keith returned, clad in leather. Shiro sighed inside. The world was hell-bent on giving him a mental breakdown.

“The Llama tried to kill me,” Keith said with a scowl as he caught sight of the animal. Shiro failed to hide a smile. “Don’t laugh at me.” He pointed a finger at Shiro, then moved it to the llama, who kept on moving its jaw, watching them. Keith stared for a second, then he let the hand sink and turned to Shiro. “Coffee?”

Shiro nodded, he blinked at the llama, whose eyes seemed to be drilling into his very soul, before he dragged his gaze to a different kind of temptation. Keith moved through the kitchen in smooth movements. He had the grace of a dancer or an assassin, all fluid motions that spoke of prolonged physical training. Shiro knew. He had been once one of those.

For a second Shiro’s thoughts wandered away, to a different place, one that spoke of early mornings and lazy dances, of cooking in tandem and exploring— He blinked as Keith put a mug in front of him, catching moving lips.

“Come again?”

Keith smiled soft and lazy. “Sugar, milk?”

“Just milk, please. Need to keep an eye on the figure.” He poked his own belly and laughed. _Really, Shirogane?_

Keith crooked his head to the side. “Nothing wrong there.”

Was this flirting? Shiro’s brain went dead and all he could answer was a lame, “thanks.”

It was followed by silence until Keith sighed. “Okay, what’ve you got?”

Shiro swallowed the disappointment at himself down and took out his pad. “So, my friend got hold of another friend, who specializes in alien animal life. She sent me a video lecture and some more material. The short version is, it’s basically like an earth llama, but with a mean streak and higher intelligence.”

“Than normal Llamas?”

“No, than humans,” Shiro said and took a sip from his mug. The coffee was great. “It shouldn’t be on Earth at all. How did you even come across it?” Shiro asked while he opened the video lecture.

“Oh,” Keith said, while he stared at Romelle. “One of my buddies won it in a raffle in a rather seedy bar. And now I’m stuck with it.”

“Why—”

“Keith?” Someone called. Shiro suddenly remembered the three motorcycles parked outside. The same moment a tall broad figure stepped into the kitchen. A Galra, towering over them, with the telltale lilac skin and glowing yellow eyes.

“Ulaz, you’re awake?” Keith looked down at the pad. “It’s too early.”

“Earth beds are bad to sleep in,” Ulaz rumbled in a deep voice. He rolled the “r” sound in his throat. Keith chuckled.

“Who’s your friend?” He nodded at Shiro, while he took down a cup from a shelf over the coffee maker.

“This is Shiro, the librarian I pestered because of the thing in our garden.”

“Uuh, the devil Llama.”

“The devil Llama,” Keith confirmed.

“What about George?” One more voice chimed in. Three motorcycles, Shirogane, three. A second massive Galra walked in. “My back is a mess,” he whined and let himself fall down on one of the barstools. It gave a mournful groan but held up.

“The Llama is evil, Regris, and now I have the confirmation from an expert.” He held up Shiro’s pad, Romelle still splashed over it.

Regris raised an eyebrow, and let his eyes flicker Ulaz, who was helping himself to coffee, then to Keith and then to Shiro. “I see,” was all he said before he lunged over the bar table and grabbed Ulaz’s coffee. His massive hands dwarfed the cup.

A pad chirped, a second followed. Keith sighed. “Boss is calling.”

Regris narrowed his eyes, “you should be in bed. We can take it.”

But Keith shook his head. “You know, I can’t.”

“It’s your funeral,” Regris said before he chucked down the coffee.

“Regris,” Ulaz chided.

“Just leave it the both of you,” Keith said with a frown. “Shiro, I’m sorry that I need to cut this short. Can you send me the data?”

Shiro nodded. “Sure.”

They all rose. Shiro watched them put on their jackets, all leather and black, take down the helmets, and then stepped out. Down at the street Keith smiled at him before he straddled his machine and clicked the helmet closed. He waved and then with a roar they were gone.

Well, this was it then. He took up his pad and sent everything off to Keith.

He let his gaze drift back to the house, for a second he allowed the dream a bit longer.

He shook his head and turned in the direction of home.

The dream had ended a long time ago.

_I met a boy, and I dreamt._

* * *

Days ran together. Shiro looked up books, and CD’s and videos, and obscure knowledge. He checked out patrons, checked in books, and shuffled through the building, up and down flights of stairs to bring them to their rightful place. It was easy work, mind-numbing.

Matt still joined him once a week for a beer and a catch-up. And he would always look at Shiro with that mix of worry and pity that grated on Shiro’s nerves. But he swallowed it down and smiled and that was the end of it.

Two weeks later, when Shiro turned into the street that housed his humble abode, he looked into the face of a llama. No, _the_ Llama, Shiro still remembered that stare.

“George,” he greeted it. The llama stared at him a moment longer and then huffed. Shiro moved his hand very slowly and fished out his pad.

“Shiro?” Keith sounded surprised.

“You miss something?” Shiro’s eyes never left the animal, prepared for any sudden attack.

“What would I—” there was movement, then a curse. “Shit, where is it?”

“In the street before my house.”

“Ping me the address, I’m on my way.”

Shiro closed the call and pinged his location, then he put the pad away. “Keith is on his way.” The llama moved its jaw once, twice, then it turned around and trotted right into the direction of his house, stepped through the gate Shiro had left open in the morning, and stopped on the small patch of grass that was still somewhat green. It bent its head down and started to graze.

Shiro waited for something else to happen, but the earth still moved. So he followed and sat down on the steps to his patio.

The roar of a motorcycle cut through the air ten minutes later, getting louder with every second. George twitched his ears, but was otherwise unbothered. Keith stopped in front of the gate and took off his helmet. He watched the llama for a second before he shook his head. “No clue how it even…” he muttered and climbed down from his bike. He walked down the garden path and settled next to Shiro. He smelled of sweat and leather and something metallic, something that Shiro knew.

“Sorry about that.” But Shiro shrugged it away. In the patio light Keith looked exhausted, dark circles had formed under his eyes, the light painted harsh shadows in his face. The scratch had healed up but there was a new bruise forming alongside the right side of his jaw. Shiro’s fingers itched to caress it. “Shit, I can’t take it back for the next few days.”

“I can look after it.” The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about them. _T_ _aking_ _care of an evil alien llama?_ He had no plants for a reason. Keith knitted his brows together.

“I can’t—”

“Well, what other option is there?”

Keith let his shoulders sink. “Well, you do have all the information.” And that was it.

“Where are you off to?” He wanted to know more about the other man.

“Nowhere, just work. But the boss is on a warpath, so it’s overtime for us at the bottom.”

“You look dreadful,” he said, Keith snorted.

“Thanks, Ulaz and Regris are already on it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Keith sighed. “They’re right, you’re right, I look dead on my feet. But not long, then I can finally walk.”

“Where to?” Shiro couldn’t stop himself, Keith turned his head and studied him.

“You’re asking a lot of questions.”

Shiro blushed. In Keith’s eyes a dangerous, guarded emotion sparked. He licked his lips. Would the truth really hurt that much? He had nothing to lose, or...? It had the potential to be awkward, but after Keith got George, they never had to interact again…

“I find you attractive.”

Keith blinked once, twice, a third time. Surprise was written all over him.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro echoed himself.

“No, no, don’t be. It’s just,” Keith scrubbed over his face, “I didn’t expect that. Fuck, this is bad timing.”

“Just forget it,” Shiro mumbled.

Keith looked at him sharply. “That’s—” the pad chimed. “For fuck’s sake.” He thumbed the message. “I need to go.”

“Okay.”

“Just…keep an eye on the Llama.”

Shiro nodded, and then all that was left was the smell of leather and the roar of a bike.

George raised his head and looked at him as if he was saying: _Dude, what was that?_

Shiro exhaled. A try.

_I met a boy, he had stars in his eyes._

* * *

Two days later Keith stood in front of his door, at four a.m., with a black eye and a broken nose.

“Keith?”

Keith smiled and winced. “Got a med kit?”

Shiro blinked and then his brain caught up with the situation. “Yes, sure, come in.”

He guided Keith down a small hallway to the bathroom, where he kept the first aid kit. It was Garrison issued and since he’d left there wasn’t much use for it. In the fluorescent light of the bath, Keith looked even worse. The bruises under his eyes were a mix of dark purples and greens. Some of it spoke of whatever he had gotten himself into, the rest from too-long nights. Shiro knew those by heart.

Shiro worked with deft fingers; he cleaned the blood, applied the salve, and taped the nose. At the end, he counted out the painkillers, which Keith swallowed dry.

Then he led Keith into the kitchen, where he passed him an ice pack and a fresh kitchen towel to put it in. Keith hissed when the pack connected with the bruised flesh, then sighed. “Thanks,” he mumbled and leaned against the kitchen island. For a moment there was silence.

“What happened?” Shiro asked.

“Bad timing. You should see the other party,” Keith joked, but it fell flat.

“Keith,” Shiro chided.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Won’t happen again…sir.”

Shiro exhaled. “Seems I owe you an apology again.”

“I don’t take well to that tone,” Keith grumbled.

Shiro smiled. “You sure, you’re alright?”

Keith nodded and then yawned.

“You want to crash here? The couch is alright.”

Keith searched his face, but whatever it was that he found, he didn’t tell. “Thank you.”

When Shiro slipped into his own bed, he let his mind panic for a second. A complete stranger was in his home. If he got murdered in his sleep, Matt would be sure to let this slip into his eulogy. But Shiro wanted to help. There was shit going down in Keith's life, and while he hadn’t said anything more to Shiro’s confession, he had come to him. That meant something.

_I met a boy, and I caught him falling._

The next morning, he found the blanket folded neatly next to the cushion. Keith was gone.

It became a pattern over the next month. At odd times in the night, a motorcycle would rumble up the street and stop before his home. Shiro would open the door to an injured Keith. Holding his questions, Shiro would patch him up and send him to bed. The next morning his guest would be gone. It was routine, a rhythm. A friendship, even.

Keith would always look at him, his eyes tracing every inch of Shiro’s face, looking, searching. Waiting.

Their first kiss was over a bottle of beer. Shiro had handed it over, Keith had taken it, and neither was willing to let go. Until they found the bottle pressed between their chests and the lips touching in a first greeting, an acknowledgment. An exhale from one to the other.

They left it at that, and the next morning Keith was as always gone. But he returned the same night, sans injury but plus take away. They ate, they talked, they kissed.

And Shiro was in love.

_I met a boy, and I kissed him. (And he kissed me back.)_

The days were marked by Keith’s arrival and departure. They began when he came, late in the evening, and they ended when he departed, early in the morning or very late in the night.

“So, you staked your claim on Pretty Boy?” Matt smirked, as they settled on the stairs of the patio. The llama watched them.

Shiro blushed from his toenail to the tips of his hair. “We—uh…I mean…”

Matt laughed. “At ease, big boy.” He took a sip. “You happy?”

“It’s nice,” Shiro smiled.

“I hear a ‘but’.”

“He is in some deep shit and I worry.”

“Oh my, the mighty Takashi Shirogane has fallen in love.”

Shiro shrugged his shoulders. “It’s nice, easy, he makes me laugh. He can be silly and goof around. He gets me like Adam never did. And he sees _me_.” Shiro choked. “He sees the arm, he registers it, and yet, for him, it’s all the same.”

The llama twitched its ears. Then the roar of a motorcycle sounded in the distance.

“That is my clue to go,” Matt said and stood.

“You don’t have to.”

Matt smiled and patted him on the back. “I do.”

They were quiet days. Shiro felt happy. He was happy.

They slept together the first time to the sound of a thunderstorm, which marked the turn of the season. When Keith rose above him, his head thrown back, his face a study of bliss and ecstasy, Shiro knew, he could get used to this. To Keith. To them.

* * *

Shiro loved him when he returned with scratches, smelling of smoke and puke and alcohol.

Shiro loved him when he turned with bruises and another broken nose.

Shiro loved him when he came home with a stab wound that had barely missed any major arteries.

He would take him in, patch him up, and love him.

And love him.

And love him.

The first time Shiro said “I love you,” Keith smiled.

The next morning he was gone.

That evening he didn’t return.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Or the next.

The number was cut off.

Sirens in the night woke Shiro. From his bedroom window, he saw an inferno illuminating the night roughly in the direction of the club. More sirens joined. The red shimmer stayed the whole night.

The next day Shiro walked by the club, or what remained of it; a smoldering ruin.

_Keith had worked here_. The thought hammered through him, deep down to his very core. The officer in the nearest police station watched him with pity. Whoever had worked in the club had been a gang member; they had either been killed or already shipped off-planet to one of the facilities, waiting to be sentenced. Shiro choked out a “Thank you” and stumbled out.

For a moment he was lost. Keith was— He swallowed it down and called Matt.

“Big guy?”

“I—”

“Shiro?”

“Can…can you get me?”

“Give me five.”

Shiro pinged his location and waited. As promised Matt appeared five minutes later. Shiro got into the car and gave him the address of the house Keith had shared with Ulaz and Regris.

Night had fallen when they arrived. The motorcycles were gone, the house was dark. Still, Shiro walked up the pathway and rang the bell, once, twice, thrice, until Matt made him stop.

“Come Shiro, let's bring you home.”

Shiro let his shoulders drop. “Matt?”

“Yes, big guy?”

“I love him.”

“I know,” Matt said. “I know.”

Keith was gone. _His_ Keith, with the warm smile and strong hands, who helped kittens over the street and fed a llama treats that wanted to kill him. The same Keith that soothed Shiro’s nightmares, and kissed the stump of his arm.

His Keith, who had been part of a violent gang. His Keith, who came home with scratches and bruises and stab wounds. The same Keith who carried a weapon in the back of his leather pants.

Just gone.

Shiro sat on his patio and watched the jaw of the llama work. To the right, to the left. To the right, to the left. Again. To the right, to the left. George was still here. Keith would never leave the llama. As long as he had the llama, he would return.

Wouldn’t he?

So when he woke up the next day and found the llama gone, he felt emptiness. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Not at all.

The dream was over.

_I met a boy, and I lost him._

* * *

Shiro smiled and went to work. He returned to a world that didn’t fit him anymore. It itched along his skin, was in some places too tight, in others too loose. Shiro remembered another time he felt like that, once when he still had two flesh arms and wanted to see the stars.

He looked up. The band of the Milky Way was still coiling over them, steady and endless.

Matt watched him. “What will you do now?”

“What do you mean?” Shiro turned his head to him.

But Matt remained silent. He took a swig from his beer and looked up into the night sky. “You know, after the accident, after Adam, I thought you would just up everything and go and never return.”

Shiro blinked. “How could I do that. I had just lost everything.”

“Yeah, but at the same time, you were suddenly free. Nothing bound you any more to Earth, to the Garrison, to the people. The one you held dear had dispersed to the stars. And I expected you to follow them.”

“I—”

“Why are you still here, Shiro?”

The question haunted him, through the night and the next morning, through the working day, and evening, spilling into his dreams and every cell of his body.

For the first time, he dreamt of then. When he had been part of the Garrison, eager to get his hands on the new ship, just been promoted to Captain. Taking one step closer to the stars. Why had he signed up all those years ago? Why not sign up on a freighter and be done? No, he wanted to explore. He had wanted to go further than any human had gone before.

The accident made him settle, settle for what he could get. A desk job, a mediocre life.

Another invitation from Allura popped up on his pad. She had sent them steadily in the last three weeks.

Maybe it was time…for something.

_I met a boy, and I saw the stars (again)._

* * *

“You will be alright, big guy?” Matt asked. Shiro nodded. The airport hangar was full of shuttles. Small wagons shuffled between them with luggage, crates, and other more obscure wares. People called each other. A big screen at one end of the port chucked out numbers and destinations and available seats and load space. Shiro relaxed, this was like back then, the smell, the noise, the people, the machines.

“Yeah.” Shiro smiled.

“Okay, see you on the other side.”

They hugged, then Matt weaved through the masses and was gone. They would meet in a few weeks when Matt’s contract had run out.

Shiro squinted at the screen and checked his flight number and place when a figure to the side made him stop. A big Galran woman was overseeing the loading of a small freighter. He snapped to attention and saluted. “General.”

General Kogane watched him for a second before she rumbled in a deep voice. “At ease.” There was amusement in her eyes. Shiro blushed and fell into a civilian stance.

“I—” And stopped, because another more familiar figure stepped up to them.

“Keith?” Shiro breathed and the figure stopped, his eyes huge and surprised.

“Shiro?”

“Keith?” General Kogane asked in the sudden silence. But Keith only blinked.

“I’m sorry, Mr…”

“Shirogane, but please call me Shiro.” He choked out.

“Shiro. I see. Please excuse my son, he had a hard mission and just returned.”

_Son_? _Mission_? Shiro closed his mouth with a click. Puzzle pieces in his mind shifted.

“Mom, you’re not making it better.”

General Kogane smiled. “I know.”

“Krolia?” Ulaz stepped out of the freighter and looked at them. Krolia smirked and stepped up into the loading area and dragged the other Galra away. Well, it was as clear a sign as any.

Keith still didn’t move. He had a pad in his gloved hands, his finger hovering over something. Shiro stepped closer and saw his name flash on the screen. Keith followed his gaze and let his pad sink, red heat high on his cheekbones. He looked good. The bruises under his eyes were gone. A faint bruise in a mild green and yellow was fading at his jaw. A fighter sat next to the freighter, all sleek, and black and sexy and Keith let himself fall against it. His lilac uniform matched the color of his eyes. A blade emblem rested over his heart.

A blade.

General Krolia Kogane.

A mission.

“You’re a Blade member,” Shiro concluded.

“Yes.”

“The club?”

Keith nodded. “The cartel running it. Ulaz, Regris, and me, we were sent to infiltrate and take them down. Things didn’t go according to plan.”

Shiro took one step closer. Keith didn’t seem to register it. “I saw the club,” Shiro murmured.

Keith sighed. “Shit went down suddenly. It was all a huge mess. Regris got injured, Ulaz went missing for a few days. There was so much to do and take care of.” He looked up. “I’m sorry Shiro. There was no way I could tell you, contact you. I just returned, and I was about to call you.”

“Liar,” Shiro said without heat.

“Maybe.” But Keith smiled.

“The Llama vanished again.”

“It went back to the old house and hid in the woods. No clue why. We are shipping it to Romelle.” He pointed at the freighter. There was a cage and those eyes glittered in the dark. Shiro shivered.

“I had wondered if you knew her.”

Keith looked at him, took him in for the first time. His gaze moved down his right arm and rested on the duffle bag. “Taking a vacation?”

“Maybe.” Shiro let the hope bubble up in him, let it consume him.

“Fancy a pilot?” Keith thumbed back at the fighter, still black, and sleek, and even sexier.

“It depends,” Shiro said, stepping even closer, crowding Pretty Boy against metal and heat.

“On what?” Keith croaked.

“Will the pilot be kissing me?”

Keith closed the gap and they were kissing and kissing. Not paying the catcalls and laughter any attention. When they broke, Keith cleared his throat.

“Shiro?”

“Hm,” Shiro hummed, content and happy, nosing Keith’s temple.

“I love you.”

Shiro smiled.

_I met a boy, and I followed him to the stars._

* * *

This fic has been converted for free using [AOYeet!](https://aoyeet.space)

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel up to it, I would love to hear your thoughts! Otherwise, thanks for reading. <3


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